


The Auction

by Omega_To_Alpha



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Alpha Alfie Solomons, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Omega Tommy, Omega Verse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-24 00:05:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17693753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omega_To_Alpha/pseuds/Omega_To_Alpha
Summary: Tommy thought Omega Auctions were a thing of the past, dissembled long before the War commenced.He's proven horribly wrong when the raid on the Eden Club goes awry, and Darby Sabini has existing debts to repay.Ratings and warnings may change.





	1. Chapter One

It was the distant shouts that woke him, their abrupt assertiveness snatching away his dreamless sleep. Tommy became aware of a flickering candle light. Flames illuminate a cramped featureless room and cast shadows that danced along the cold grey walls. His coat was missing and his pockets out turned in a search he couldn’t remember. The lingering bitterness of chloroform laid thick on his tongue. 

Tommy tugged at his shirt collar, turning it up against the sharp draft that scurries beneath the closed door. His legs were heavy and uncooperative, but he dragged himself into a sitting position closer to the candle. The weak flame gave a semblance of heat, and Tommy nurtured it between cold trembling hands. 

In the limited light of the candle, Tommy searches the floor and the walls. Windowless. He moves the candle to the far corner of the room. It gives him the most space while allowing a full view of the only exit. Hands explore the hard surface beneath him; a fruitless search for a weapon, a bargaining chip, for anything. 

It worries Tommy, only slightly, how they left him here. No ropes. No limitations. Free to move around the small confines of this room. Only a fool would do such a thing. Either that, or his captors didn’t see him worthy or rope or restricted freedom. 

He wasn’t sure how long he remained there. Minutes? Hours? The only passing of time was the increased hunger that rumbled in his stomach, protesting loudly and eventually dying away to a dull muted pain. Tommy’s tongue searched his mouth for moisture. Behind his teeth, in the crevice between tooth and mouth, the soft palette at the back of his throat. Nothing. 

The candle sizzled and spat, the weak flame finally giving up. 

Darkness. 

Eyes shut tight against the ever-present scraping of shovels, Tommy counted his breaths. One. Two. Three. In. Out. In. Out. Pressed his finger nails into his forearms and dragged them down. Wetness. Pain. But alive. The shovels remained in the distance, away from the featureless walls and back in France. He tore again at his arms. But he should stop that, shouldn’t he? Shouldn’t show weakness. 

Tommy dabbed carefully at the wounds. The cold had seeped deep. He couldn’t feel the pain anymore. 

The shovels crept closer. He swallowed thickly, mouth dry, and allowed his mind to wander to previous events. Pieces didn’t slot together, edges too wide or rough, sections jamming but not running smoothly. 

The Eden club. That was where it started. Arthur, John, and Tommy had attended the Eden Club with strategic networking in mind. The hustle of sweaty dancing bodies and garish glittering lights had allowed them to go unnoticed. A table in the centre of the room had allowed them a full view of the room, of all exits, and all participants. Tommy had purposely sat between his brothers, their strong Alpha scent covering his subtler fresh Omega. 

Tommy distinctly remembers ordering a bottle. Can’t remember what exactly. Champagne? Wine? Wrong move, they’d attracted attention and whatever Tommy had said to try and appease the situation hadn’t worked. In amongst the chaos that had ensued, Tommy had become separated from his brothers and foolishly allowed himself to cornered by Sabini. 

“I’d heard rumours.” The man’s eyes bore into Tommy’s and his lips curled in a cold smirk. “Tommy Shelby. Omega.” The words were drawn out and condescending. His scent was cloying; soured with aftershave and bitter with anticipation. “I think you’ll solve my debt quite nicely.” 

And that was as much as Tommy could remember, the other events lay shrouded in darkness. 

Shadows of feet slid past the light beneath the door. Brief flickers of light and dark as people walked past. Raised voices, a scuffle, a thud, and then a sickly dragging noise and the squeak of fine leather against stone. Two Alpha scents, strong and overpowering, and then the bitter scent of Omega distress. 

Further away the shouting grew louder. But it was organised and systematic. Yet unintelligible. Curiosity nearly pulled Tommy to the door but he stayed firmly sat. The information would be useful, but the distance between his captors and himself could prove lifesaving. Instead he listened for what he could. Eventually the noise diminished, a soft clap, and then quiet once more. 

More footsteps. Heavy and determined. Two sets. The same stride pattern as the two that had passed before. No distressed Omega scent this time. The shoes stopped outside Tommy’s door, a jangle of keys and the turn of a lock. 

Tommy raised a hand to shield his eyes as bright light flooded in. Although he squinted and his face grimaced, he held their gaze. He was right. Two Alphas. Two large Alphas, far too large for him to fight. 

“Come on, Sweetheart. Your turn next.” The words weren’t comforting. 

Tommy didn’t reply. But he did allow the Alpha’s to pull him to his feet. He stood straight between the Alphas, shoulders back and posture as strong as ever. There didn’t seem to be much point in fighting, not when he’d heard what had happened to the previous Omega.

A chuckle from one of the Alphas. “Not so tough now, Shelby. Not without you’re guard dogs.”

Tongue between his teeth to stop the scathing retort, Tommy focussed on keeping his strides even to keep himself upright. No matter where they were going, he wouldn’t be dragged. He wouldn’t allow himself that humiliation. He breaths steadily to calm his pulse and keep his head clear. And most importantly his scent. It remains neutral, apples and haylage with no emotion attached. Only calmness. 

The two Alphas quickly become bored of Tommy’s apparent lack of fight, and they talk amongst themselves. As they walk the grey corridors Tommy assesses any route of escape. There’s a door leading off to the left. No idea where it leads though. A quick scent tells him it’s empty. Could be a corridor? There’s no scent of freshness to it doesn’t lead outside. They turn another corner and this time there’s a window to the right. And out that window is a river, grey depths swirling. The noise of a horn. Docks?

“Here we are, Shelby. Be interesting to see what price you fetch.” They reach another door. This one as plain as the last. In the room Tommy scents Alphas. A lot of Alphas. And more shouting and jeering, a raised leading voice and then the shout of his own name. 

Tommy’s heart thuds in his chest and he swallows back the whimper wanting to escape. He’d heard of these places. These Omega auctions. Always assumed they were a myth, died out long before the War. Where people snatched Omega’s from the street and brought them here to settle debts. 

Sabini. Debts. Tommy’s scent leaches from his body. Bitter apples and spoiled haylage. 

“You’re going to regret making so many enemies, Shelby. Almost feel sorry for you.” Both Alphas laugh and then the door is opened. 

The overpowering scent of Alpha is the first thing Tommy registers. His steps falter and the two men heave him roughly back to his feet. It sticks in his nose and makes breathing difficult. He breathes through his mouth but the bitter taste of his own scent makes bile rise in his mouth. 

They’re on a stage. Polished wood is beneath his shoes and to the left is a man with a foreign accent and a hooked nose. He gives Tommy a smirk and spreads an arm in Tommy’s direction. 

“Gentleman. As promised, the lovely Mr Thomas Shelby.”

The crowd mutters and the combined scent piques with interest. For the first time Tommy looks out over the see of heads. Some are younger than he is, arrogant and cocky, others older and self-assured. He forces his shoulders back and plants his feet firmly. He can’t show weakness today. As if to mock him, the scratches from earlier begin to ooze with blood. The scent of it causes the crowd to murmur again. The faces in the front row shine with interest. With intent to harm. 

Tommy’s scent deepens and his breathing hitches. 

“Don’t be so shy, Mr Shelby.” Again, the drawling voice. Italian? Possibly. The accent sounds familiar, but not the specific voice. “As my acquaintance informs me, you were in London to make friends?”

It confirms Tommy’s previous fears. He’d been snatched by Sabini, obviously as some kind of debt repayment. Tommy takes a deep breath through his nose. In. Out. In. Out. Unlike before it doesn’t calm his racing pulse or tame the bitter scent that leaks from his pores. But unlike before, he scents something else. Calmer. Steady. 

Liquorice. Gun powder. Smoke. Alpha. 

“He’s of prime breeding age, easily capable of a few pups. Unknotted too, if my sources are correct. Always spends a heat alone.” The crowd jeers, and Tommy feels himself flush at their crude suggestions. His hands clench into fists. 

Tommy has always been raised to use what he can. Use it to his advantage. So he breathes in the deep scent, allows it to soothe his frayed nerves and is surprised when his own scent calms and gradually subsides. He blocks out the noises around him, focuses only on the comforting scent that allows him to think. 

“Stubbornness is a vice unfortunately.” The Italian signs dramatically and shakes his head. “But could you imagine him after you’ve beaten it out of him? To have this proud Omega presenting to you on a breeding bench?”

He tips his head back and blinks to clear away the potential vision of his future. Once more Tommy’s scent has spiked. He becomes aware of the rapid rise and fall of his chest and desperately seeks out the comforting reassurance of the unknown Alpha scent. 

“So, I believe bidding should start at £1000.”

He’s being sold. Tommy knows that much. He can’t escape now, far too many Alphas and it would be a futile use of energy. Another inhale of soothing liquorice. But he could escape once he’s sold. There would only be one Alpha. Much easier than the two holding him or trying to lose the large group arranged below the stage. More gun powder scent. So that would be his plan. If he acted weak enough, pliant enough, he could escape. Allow the Alpha to think he was easily handled. 

Around Tommy the numbers climb higher. The shouts become less as bidders fall away. One of the last two men shakes his head. 

No more. 

Tommy meets the steady gaze of an Alpha standing at the back of the room. His face is shadowed by a large black-rimmed hat, but Tommy can make out the beard and the heavy set of shoulders. Tommy’s plan dips. The Alpha is large, larger than Tommy. Unless he has a weapon Tommy doubts, he could overpower him with force alone. 

He allows his assessment of his new Alpha to continue. One hand encircles a cane. The knuckles aren’t tensed, there’s no strain or white effect. So, is it merely for show? A concealed weapon? Or maybe it has a purpose. A War injury? The Alpha looks like the type to have been in France. And Tommy had seen plenty of men come back injured. 

“Sold to Mr Solomons.”

Tommy takes one last comforting breath of liquorice, gun powder, and smoke as his two Alpha companions lead him roughly from the stage. 

***

Apples. Haylage. Omega. The aroma assaults his senses before the man is revealed. Thomas Shelby. He’s sure he’s heard the name, but he can’t place it to a face. Must be a gang outside of London, someone he hasn’t had dealings with yet. He takes another breath through his nose, allowing the sweetness of apples to linger on his tongue and settle deep in his chest. 

Before Alfie has even seen the Omega, feelings of protectiveness and possession begin to bubble in his chest. The scent alone causes a sharp intake of breath and a vision of mate and pups to flit through his mind. 

His hand clenches on the head of the cane. Knuckles white. Fingers tense. 

The door to the side of the stage opens and a male Omega is lead in, accompanied by the two guards. It’s a regular sight, every Omega is accompanied but this time it’s different. He’s not sure why, but the sight of another Alpha’s hands on the Omega makes his chest rumble. The Alpha besides Alfie gives him a wary look. 

The Omega is slim and dwarfed by the large muscular Alpha’s on either side. Tommy stumbles on the stage and if not for the two guards Alfie is sure he’d be on his knees. Sharp blue eyes scan the front rows of the crowd. A flush stains defined cheekbones. His throat bobs with a forced swallow and his waistcoat rises and falls unpredictably. Angry red scratches line Tommy’s arms and seep with blood. The droplets linger in the crevasses. 

Luca Changretta confirms the Omega’s name, his accent slick and condescending. Dark eyes roam over Tommy and Alfie’s fingers tighten again on the cane. He knows the look in Changretta’s eyes, has seen it in one too many Alphas. 

The sickeningly sour stench of apples and rotten haylage fills the crowded room. Blue eyes, once sharp, roam the outer corners of the room. The waistcoat rises quickly, falls dramatically, and rises again in less than a second. Clean white teeth gnaw on a full flushed bottom lip. And then his shoulders go back, and his breathing hitches. It’s still fast but more controlled.

A low growl comes from the Alpha besides Alfie. “Stop fucking scenting. The whore’s mine. He’s fucked my family over too many times.”

Alfie isn’t even aware of his own scent. Brought back into the present moment he notices his own distinct scent of gun powder, smoke, and liquorice. He doesn’t try to pull it back or mute the aroma. Instead he lets roam free. 

A small part of him is greatly relieved when he sees the Omega’s breathing calm sufficiently. Tommy’s eyes search the crowd. 

And then Alfie turns his full attention to the Alpha beside him. “You what, mate?”

The Alpha bristles. Shoulders raise and his muscles in his jaw tense. “The Omega. It’s mine.”

“I don’t fucking think so.” 

“You? With an Omega like that? You’re fucking joking me. Fucking wasted.” 

“Me?” Alfie widens his eyes a fraction. He’s made many a man piss himself with this look alone. “You mean Alfie Solomons?” Alfie has the pleasure of watching the man’s frame deflate and his jaw slacks open. “If you’re the intelligent sort, and I don’t think you are, you wouldn’t be making any move towards that fucking Omega. So tell me I’m wrong, are you fucking intelligent or not?”

The Alpha nods his head frantically and backs away, hands raised in surrender. 

“That’s a good boy.”

And Alfie turns back to the proceedings and tips his hat to signal a bid.


	2. Chapter Two

The metal of the door is cold in Tommy’s side, it bites into his ribs. The window rattles in the frame and a draft caresses his hair and tickles down his spine. An involuntary shiver trembles through Tommy’s frame. 

Alfie glances at Tommy from the corner of his eye. His gaze doesn’t linger, instead he slows the car to steer with one hand. When Alfie reaches back and Tommy barely contains his flinch as the Alpha’s hand nears his shoulder. Moments later Alfie tugs his arm back, and his large black coat follows. He drops the heavy material in Tommy’s lap where it lays like an overgrown dog, arms falling over Tommy’s knees, collar softly stroking at Tommy’s exposed wrists. 

“You’re cold,” Alfie says in way of an explanation.

He doesn’t answer and leaves the coat where it lies. Thankfully his hands were clasped in his lap to keep the trembling under control. Now they’re covered in the thick fabric, greedily absorbing the heat provided. Heat spreads over Tommy’s skin, his calves warming where the arms fall and his thighs begin to tingle as warmth soothes his frozen skin. It’s only now Tommy realises how cold he was and his hands ache to spread the coat out fully, to put his arms through the holes and drape the rest down his front. 

“I can talk for the two of us. You seem the quiet sort. Doesn’t matter though, got plenty of words in me.” 

Tommy nods but he’s focussed on where they’re driving. The light is fading, the sky turning a deep blue, but he can make out fields and a few animals. Large ones. Cows perhaps? Horses? The fields appear to stretch on and on, endless seas only broken by sparse hedgerows. A bend in the road causes Tommy to sway and his hands tighten on his thigh. 

“So I’m Alfie, but you know that already. Just don’t think Changretta’s introduction really covers it does it? I’m a baker, have a bakery in Camden Town, London. Best bread in the whole of London, fucking biblical it is.”

He’s got no idea where he is. The country, that much is obvious, but there’s nothing to identify. 

“Outskirts of London, Tommy. That’s where we are.” Alfie’s reply startles Tommy. 

He looks directly at the Alpha for the first time since meeting him and finds curious dark eyes looking back. Tommy holds his gaze, determined to have some control in this situation. The man, Alfie, is rugged yet handsome. Beard trimmed carelessly yet still affords an air of precision and control. It would be unwise to underestimate Alfie Solomons, to judge him as a fool. 

“I knew that,” Tommy replies, voice cold and collected. He turns his attention back to the window. More fields. More large animals. More cold draughts. He briefly wonders what happened to his own coat, to his warm leather gloves and black scarf knitted by Polly? Another shiver runs through his frame. 

“You’re going to be a hazard to yourself, aren’t you?” It’s the only warning Tommy receives before a hand gropes at the black coat, pulling and pushing the fabric until it covers Tommy’s legs and bunches at his waist. “Been in those fucking cells for who knows how long. No wonder you’re freezing. Could at least help keep yourself warm. Especially when it’s offered.”

A subtle scent and then a smile lights up Alfie’s face. It causes his eyes to crinkle and a dimple to form. “You’re welcome. Glad I could make you comfortable.”

Tommy chooses not to reply. On the next intake of breath he scents the warm inviting scent of apples and haylage. He frowns and focuses on bringing his scent under control. The muscles in his face relax and the frown smooths out. Internally his thoughts are racing. He doesn’t understand his body’s betrayal. After the past Tommy had insisted on impeccable control of his Omega biology. Never again would he allow it to control events –

He shakes his head to clear the memories. 

Instead Tommy returns his mind to the present. The car is tidy, regularly cleaned but he doubts Alfie does it himself. Obviously has money then, for servants. Regret coils deep in his stomach, he should have done more research before raiding the Eden Club. Maybe then he’d know more about Alfie Solomons. But he didn’t, and Tommy doesn’t know much so he allows his gaze to wonder through the car. 

In the dip between their seats is a metal container, the lid not fully clasped and the sweet scent of liquorice gives away the contents. There’s a worn book placed faced down beside Tommy’s feet; Jane Austin. The spine is creased over and over and the pages are yellowing. 

The items are personal, but they don’t tell him much of the actual character of Alfie Solomons. Nothing that Tommy could use to his advantage. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Tommy spots a large red tartan blanket on the back seat. Threads are pulled free in various places and a corner has been chewed to a soggy crisp. Short fine brown hairs cover the blanket and on closer inspection Tommy notices the hairs clinging to the back of the seat. Animal hair. A big one. Dog perhaps?

“That’s Cyril’s blanket,” a bejewelled hand gestures towards the back seats. There’s a twinkle in Alfie’s eye as he speaks. “Bullmastiff, gorgeous pup I found dumped by the cannel and he followed me home. Sat begging outside the door and he was still there the next morning. So I kept him.”

“Cyril?” Tommy clears his throat. His voice is rough from lack of use. 

“So you do speak? Nice voice, you should do it more often. So yeah, Cyril chases squirrels. You know, Cyril the Squirrel? Has a nice rhyme to it, so that’s how he became Cyril.” Alfie’s scent is strong with happiness, and his voice becomes more animated as he speaks. “Cyril carries a cushion with him, don’t know why. Never have done. He’ll let you look at it, but you can’t touch it. Fell for that myself one time, nearly ripped my fucking arm off.” Alfie chuckles at his own tale. “Any pets yourself?”

The question takes Tommy by surprise. “No, just the racehorses.” Tommy finds nothing but curiosity in the warm gaze of the Alpha, and it makes his shoulders relax. He finds himself speaking before he can stop, there’s something about the Alpha that Tommy’s innate Omega wants to trust. “And a shire or two before we got the cars. I still keep them though, large and placid compared to the racehorses.”

“A bit like my Cyril then. The farm over has a couple of shires. He’s an older guy, aging and crippled. I’ll speak to him, see if you visit and help.” Alfie nods thoughtfully to himself. “Yeah, I’ll do that. Any strange characteristics?”

Once again Tommy’s natural caution is lulled by the warmth of Alfie’s offer and the genuine interest in his eyes. His face is also relaxed and his hands are light on the steering wheel. “One likes swede.” Tommy offers, “chews it into a flat disk, and then throws it anyone who passes.”

Alfie’s responding laugh is loud and it echoes in the confines of the car. Inside his Omega preens at the sound but he squashes the feeling completely. It’s contagious and Tommy feels himself smiling without meaning to. Alfie raises a hand to wipe a tear from his eye. 

“Fucking throws it at people.” Alfie shakes his head. The car begins to slow and they turn onto a single track. Gravel crunches beneath the tyres and overgrown hedgerows scrape against the passenger window. “Almost home now, Tommy.”

The happy feeling Tommy experiences sinks. It sticks in his throat and he swallows heavily, where it slides to his stomach and sits like lead. Beneath the black coat his palms are cold and slick and his mouth becomes dry. 

Just for a moment, he’d forgotten his situation. 

***  
The air in the office is thick with tension, it snakes around ankles and coils around necks. The bottle of whiskey sits empty in the middle of the table, surrounded by paperwork, contacts, and any potential links. 

There are no links. 

“There are no fucking links.” Arthur states. He’s tired. They’ve been at this all night, ever since John and he returned from London to find Polly waiting patiently. He runs an exhausted hand through his hair causing a disarray of strands. Harsh lines trace around his mouth and the pinched corners of his eyes. 

More silence. And then an exasperated sigh from Polly as she taps the ash from the end of the cigarette. Her sixth cigarette; lit before the last had been stubbed out. “There’s got to be something. Tommy wouldn’t have disappeared without telling you.” Tommy might be bold and risky but he’s not foolish, he knows the risk of being an unmated Omega without protection. 

“Maybe he met someone?” John shrugs. His hand is halfway to the whiskey bottle before he realises it’s empty. His hand falls limply to the desk in defeat. 

“Don’t be stupid. The last time I scented anyone on Tommy was Kimber, and he hasn’t touched another Alpha since that bastard. Never mind fucked one.” Polly’s worry makes her words crude and when she sees Arthur’s jaw clench she regrets mentioning the past. “Tell me again what happened.”

They’ve been over the story five times, but Arthur humours his aunt and glosses over the details again. “We were at the Eden club, everything was going as planned. We ordered a bottle, had to keep up appearances,” he justifies quickly at Polly’s arched brow. “But then some bloody snob, manager I think, came over and told us to leave-”

“So Tommy starts speaking,” John chips in. He doesn’t like the accusing glare his aunt is giving him. “As he always does, and then it leads to a fucking fight. And that’s where we lost him.”

“You said it was going well. How was it going well?” Polly’s sharp hearing and keen planning misses nothing. It’s a new detail, maybe one Arthur added to make their situation appear less dire, but it’s a potential lead. 

“John, surprisingly,” there’s a scoff but Arthur carries on, “made a connection with a Mr Smith, runs a bookie’s in London. Smith was sat next to us, overheard me talking.”

“What use is that? Fucking Smith, it’s the most common name there is. And in London of all places.”

John says nothing and reaches into his pocket and pulls out a beer soaked business card. “This Mr Smith?” The writing is smudged, but legible. There’s an address stamped at the bottom.

Finally there’s a crack in Polly’s stony expression. “And you only thought to show this now?” A small lift of the upper corner of her lips. She takes a drag of her cigarette, blows it out slowly as she considers her next words. “Better late than fucking never.”

***

Home turns out to be a stone cottage at the end of a two-mile gravel track. Ivy snakes around the door and the windows, a darker shadow than the paleness of grey stone lit by the inside oil lamps. There’s a muffled bark from behind the closed door and the sound of scratching paws on wood. 

When Tommy opens the car door, for Alfie is already making his way to the house, he hears the distinct tone of a woman’s voice. Again his blood chills. He’d heard rumours of infertile couples using Omegas for pups. Tommy’s hand lingers on the car door. He’s too far away from anywhere. They didn’t pass a house for the last five miles of the journey. The gravel beneath his shoes is small and rounded and it would be too obvious to pocket some. The moonlight reveals nothing of use in the garden. 

“Oh you dear, thing!” 

Tommy startles and takes a step back at the sudden appearance of the woman in front of him. He stumbles back into the car, causing the door to clang shut. He tries to contain his emotions, but they’re overwhelming and he whines low in his throat. It’s a keening sound, a cry of worry, uncertainty, and fear. 

He stiffens at the suddenness of being enveloped in slim comforting arms. Nose buried in the top of the woman’s hair he scents the distinct scent of a Beta. Her scent is dulled compare to Alfie’s but Tommy finds the scent of cookies soothing. The hand on his back traces small circles before she breaks the hold.

“You’re freezing, I’ve never felt someone so cold before. Come along before you catch your death.” The woman has a kind face and the lines around her eyes deepen when she smiles. “You’ll be ok, I promise.” Her dark hair escapes from her bun, stray strands tumbling around her cheeks. There’s a motherly aura about her, and Tommy finds himself following her towards the house. “I think Alfie is getting the kettle on. And probably some bread and broth for supper. Warm you up from the inside.”

The house is warm and has an open plan sitting room and dining room. There’s a log fire in the sitting room area and it crackles and groans. Beside the fire there are stacks of old newspapers lined for burning. A large bookshelf dominates the corner beside the fire with armchairs and a small reading lamp for company. In front of the fire is a pile of blankets, and on them a large brown dog sleeps with its head tucked on top of a drool covered cushion. It snores gently. 

“That’s Cyril,” Alfie points out unnecessarily. “Told him to go to his bed to let you get settled. Didn’t think you’d appreciate being jumped upon.” Alfie pours boiling water into three cups. When they’re ready he places them beside two steaming bowls of broth and a basket of bread. “Get tucked in. Probably can’t remember the last time you ate.”

Tommy takes the seat opposite Alfie, as far away from the Alpha as possible. The smell of the broth is inviting and he becomes aware of the long dormant ache in his stomach. He reaches forward for a slice of fluffy white bread and the knife beside the butter. The butter spreads easily. While Alife dips his bread in the broth, he slips the knife up his shirt sleeve. Tommy leaves the slice of bread beside the broth. 

Noticing his hesitation, Alfie says “Mary’s had her supper. We don’t normally eat this late, but business cropped up.” He hates the way Alfie refers to him as business, but Alfie doesn’t notice and carries on spooning the food to his mouth. “She’s getting a bath ready for you. Get you warmed up for tonight.”

Tommy’s hunger disappears. The aroma from the broth becomes nauseating. He stirs it with his spoon but his hands tremble and his stomach rolls at strong smell. 

A heavy hand reaches across the table and takes Tommy’s wrist in his. He flinches and tries to pull back but the grip tightens. The familiar scent of liquorice, gun powder, and smoke taunts Tommy’s senses and he gratefully takes a gulp. The waves in his stomach settle to ripples.

“Hey,” Alfie’s voice is calm and quiet. His face is open and inviting. “I’m a bad man, Tommy. As are you if I’ve heard correct. But I ain’t like that.”

Alfie releases Tommy’s slim wrist, and Tommy leans back in his chair. The more distance between them the better. “Then why did you buy me?”

Once more Alfie leans forward, his elbows are on the table and his fingers steeple above his broth. The rings on his fingers glisten in the flickering light. “I don’t talk a lot of sense, right? You’ll come to find that. But when fortune drops something in your lap, be fucking rude to throw it out. And you Tommy, are a fortune. Now I suggest you eat. Don’t want you dying on me.”

***

“I haven’t added any cold water to the bath yet. Everyone varies with temperature; Alfie likes it as warm as possible, soothes his back. I personally like mine cooler, it’s nice after the heat of the kitchen.” Mary says as she leads Tommy down the small hallway towards the bathroom. Her arms are full with towels and a spare set of bed clothes donated by Alfie. She’d politely declined Tommy’s offer of assistance, insisting that this was her house and it was only right that she got him settled. 

“I think I’ll prefer mine warm today.” He’s unused to trivial small chat. With his own family there was always a point to be made, a plan to be discussed. In business meetings Tommy had to watch what he said; giving enough details for his associate to trust him without putting himself at a disadvantage. But it’s useful to have a friendly face in an unfamiliar environment, so he lets himself talk. “Thank you for the broth,” he’d managed to eat half the bowl, “it’s helped warm my stomach.”

Mary tuts. “Don’t worry about that, dear. It was nothing. But you can thank me for the Sunday Lunches though. The mashed potato is a nightmare to get fluffy.” 

“I’ll make sure to remember that.”

She pushes open a the first door in the hallway. Steam escapes and Tommy sighs in anticipation of the water easing his cold limbs. He takes the towels and spare bed clothes from Mary and places them beside the tub. 

“Thank you.” He’s grateful when Mary smiles, understanding that he means for more than just the bath. 

“Alfie’s bedroom is the last door on the left.” Tommy could almost feel the blood drain from his face, and he takes his bottom lip between his teeth. He tastes blood. “Oh no, not like that, Tommy.” The distress in Mary’s eyes is clear. She explains quickly, “your room is next door. Alfie isn’t like that, not at all. He’ll have to go through me if he thinks anything of the sort.” 

Tommy respects the firm stance in Mary’s words and his early thought of a motherly figure comes back. He nods his thank you, and Mary closes the bathroom door quietly behind herself. 

Finally alone he sinks down beside the bathtub, his knees drawn up to his chest. His hands brush over his face and he deeply breathes in his own scent. It’s surprisingly calm, only an undertone of bitterness lingering from Mary’s description of the hallway. Tommy takes a deep breath, allows it to expand his lungs fully before letting it escape in a sigh. He’s not sure what to do.

Alfie, for all appearances, has been considerate. He’s made no move to touch or be intimate, and although Tommy is eternally grateful for that he also wishes that the Alpha would do just that. At least that he was prepared for. It would be no different from the last time. But this, this unknowing of what Alfie wants, is worse. The apprehension coils in Tommy’s gut and hisses violently whenever the Alpha speaks or looks his way. 

And the comment. About being a fortune. Tommy doesn’t understand it, and that’s frustrating. He can read people well, it’s what made him good at the business; but Alfie is unreadable except when he wants Tommy to read something. Alfie’s speech is riddled with twists and turns, and it throws Tommy off kilter, always attempting to but never quite understanding his meaning. 

Tommy sighs and pushes himself from the floor. He locks the bathroom door and stuffs the towels behind it to form a wedge. Just in case. And then he strips and sinks into the welcoming embrace of the water. 

***

The bedroom Tommy has been allocated is clearly a guest bedroom. The walls are plain and cream, the carpet beige and its lacks the distinctive welcome feeling of home. There’s a small wardrobe, currently empty, and a bed side table with a couple of drawers. All heavy oak. There’s a single chair which is has been violently wedged beneath the door handle. On the bedside table an oil lamp flickers gently, an addition by Mary who’s own son “appreciates the candle light after the War.” 

Tommy appreciates it more than he lets her know. 

The curtains are drawn tight against chilly winds, but Tommy doesn’t climb beneath the fluffy covers. Instead he sits on top, a blanket covering his feet but not his legs, with the kitchen knife clutched desperately in a white knuckled grip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the lovely comments, they really make my day when I see them! I hope you enjoyed this next chapter, as always any writing pointers are more than welcome. 
> 
> On a side note, I'll be starting a new nursing placement in the next week and a study linked to it. Unfortunately it means my updates will be slower. Apologies in advance!

**Author's Note:**

> So I thought I'd try my hand at a multi-chapter fic! I'd be grateful for any comments/constructive criticism or general thoughts. 
> 
> I'm not sure how often updates will be. 
> 
> Thank you! xx


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